Some Sacrifices
by YAJJ
Summary: Something is up with Mustang, but Ed can't place it. He's being very... nice, and it's weirding him out. But Mustang won't let him in on what's going on. Deathfic. Parental!RoyEdAl.
1. Chapter 1

_Some Sacrifices_

a fullmetal alchemist fanfic

 **YAJJ**

Summary: Something is up with Mustang, but Ed can't place it. He's being very... nice, and it's weirding him out. But Mustang won't let him in on what's going on.

A/N: Special thanks to Ranowa Hikura for letting me use her idea! I hope this is up to your expectations, darling! Also, to anyone who is reading _Hero of Ishval..._ this has got me distracted right now. It's only three chapters, though, and I only have a half a chapter to write, so hopefully the next chapter of _Hero of Ishval_ will be uploaded by next week. Sorry, all!

Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist.

Also, forgive Roy. You'll see why.

Enjoy!

* * *

" _Hey kid. Colonel's got a mission for us—no exceptions. He wants us to meet at the office in fifteen minutes."_

Edward hated these days. With a burning passion. Oh he hated hated _hated these_.

He had better things to do with his time than waste it coming into the office waaaayyyyy after normal hours to pick up a mission his asshole commander wouldn't even let him go on for at _least_ another day. So Ed had to miss out on precious sleep-but-actually-research time and waste it on this pile of crap.

"Cheer up, brother," Alphonse chirped happily beside. Ed didn't know how Al could be so chipper all the time. It was _past eight_ , and they were being dragged back to the office? _No fun at all_.

 _Although_ , Ed thought to himself as a wave of returning guilt washed over him, _a body like that cant get tired because it doesn't need sleep, so it can't feel the effects of fatigue._ Another silent vow to return Alphonse to his original body blasted through his head, at least the third one today.

"You would have just spent the rest of the evening with your nose in that book. At least if the colonel gives you a mission, you almost always get tired out and fall asleep. You _need_ that sleep!"

"He's so _draining_ ," Ed moaned, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "One man can't be that draining. How is it physically possible."

Al chuckled and shook his head unsympathetically, choosing not to make the usual "well if you didn't let him get you so worked up" comment that usually followed a declaration of forced exhaustion a la meetings with Colonel Mustang.

"...Whatever, Al."

"I didn't say anything," Al chirped, but Ed could hear the victorious grin in his voice and shot him a withering look. Stupid brothers. Stupid, smug baby brothers who knew everything.

So, Ed fell silent so as to not give Al any more ammo. He was resolutely not in the mood to continue being teased like this.

Which would make Colonel Mustang's office an... _adventure_.

He flashed his watch at the guard station and thumbed back to Al, saying "he's with me." The private saluted him and let them in, closing the gate behind them ominously.

"...I don't like this one bit," he mumbled. Al's quick response was somewhere along "you never do", but all Ed could hear was the silent trepidation in his voice. He didn't like it either.

Being on base was creepy enough during the day, but it was so much worse at night. There was no one around but the night guard and patrol, no one to fill this huge empty space. The wind whistled between the gates and the huge front doors, and even though the city was right outside huge stone walls, it seemed that they were out in the middle of nowhere with the engulfing silence.

"...I hate this place."

Al gave a similar deadpan response to the one earlier, but there was a silent hint of agreement in his voice.

There was something inexplicably… off, tonight. And Ed couldn't tell if it was the usual degree of offness he always got from this place, or if it was Advanced Offness.

There was a light on on the third floor, blinking down at him, only shadowed by a figure. Colonel Bastard was up there, staring down at him, waiting for him as if he knew that he was late. Late for _what_? It had been only fifteen minutes—maybe times one and a half or two, but it was late and the bastard _couldn't_ blame him.

Even inside, there was no one in the hallways. The night receptionist smiled at them and waved her fingers, so Al waved enthusiastically and Ed nodded his greeting. He took the steps up as slow as he could, Al's clunky footsteps booming behind him. If Colonel Bastard was going to keep him awake and away from his research, at _this_ hour, then he could damn well _wait_.

He had an audience in the form of Jean Havoc at the top of the stairs, waiting with his hands on his hips but an amused little smile on his face. His cigarette hung out the corner of his mouth; very odd if Hawkeye was there and, if Mustang was there, Hawkeye was normally right at his side. Havoc knew that Hawkeye hated when he smoked in the office, especially because the scent clung to her clothes and apparently made Black Hayate sick.

"Is this what fifteen minutes looks like, chief?" Havoc called down the stairs, eyes lit up with amusement.

"Damn close enough. I could have been sleeping!"

Havoc gave him a look that said " _sure_ you were," spinning on his heel once Ed was at the third to last step and leading him off to the office. Ed groaned overtheatrically but followed, his brother's amused but exasperated sigh on his heel.

"Found him!" Havoc said when he threw the door to the office open, throwing his hand up above his head victoriously. "I found him."

"Good work, since Mustang told you he was coming," Breda said with a roll of his eyes. He was relaxing on the couch, one arm tossed casually over the back. It was clear that they were not here for _work_ , exactly. They were all in their civies; Breda with a casual coat thrown over his white under shirt, Fuery in a pair of slacks (and his white undershirt), Falman in casual slacks and a sweater. Neither Mustang nor Hawkeye were there, which could explain the cigarette.

"Oh come _on_ ," Ed whined, hanging his head back and slumping dramatically against his brother. Al, wise to his brother's tricks, caught him by the shoulders and stood him back up without preamble. "They make us come in at bitch-ass in the evening and they're not even here?"

"It's not even eight, Ed," Fuery said matter-of-factly, lifting his brows. All of the men looked thoroughly amused at Ed's little display.

"I could be _sleeping_ ," Ed spat.

"You wouldn't be, though," Alphonse said good naturedly, affectionately cuffing the blond. "You're up until midnight researching every night."

" _Could_ be!" Ed retaliated, throwing his arms over his chest and crossing the room to seat himself on the coffee table. He jammed his elbows onto his thighs and crossed his legs on the table in defiance.

The door at the other end of the room, leading into Mustang's private office, opened swiftly, revealing the imposing shape of their commanding officer. "Well, now," he said, his voice brittle. "I hear that everyone has arrived. Join us, will you?" He stepped out of the way of the door, holding it open for his men.

"Sir, what are we here for?" Falman wondered as they filed in. "Hawkeye said there was a mission?"

"It'll all become clear, I think, once you join us inside."

Ed sighed theatrically again and let Alphonse heave him off the table. "So _mysterious_ ," Ed half-mocked, "you're not sneaky, you know. I even saw you _watching me_ when Al and me came in. Creep."

"Well with the backdrop of the light, I was hardly hiding," was Mustang's simple response.

"Sir," Hawkeye suddenly moved from where she had been near his desk, "you need to—"

Mustang cut her off before she said anything, tugging her close and hissing something quiet into her ear. Ed wouldn't have called what was happening there a reprimand… but he didn't know what else to call it. He heard Mustang utter a sharp " _break_ ", and Hawkeye said just a smidge louder, "you need to be careful."

...What? What was that about? How bizarre.

Hawkeye clasped Mustang's shoulders and steered him to the nearby couch, the look crossing Mustang's face telling them all that he was _not_ pleased with this outcome. "Come in, take a seat," Hawkeye said instead, a surprisingly pleasant smile on her face. "The colonel will explain everything in just a moment."

"I can speak for myself, thank you very much."

Hawkeye glowered briefly, her gaze souring, then put on a smug little look and said, "as can I, sir."

Ed coughed an almost wordless insult into his elbow, and Mustang's souring look turned from Hawkeye to him. Ed grinned at him heartily and moved over to take a seat as requested. Al moved to stand behind him, rather than taking up space on the couches when his legs would not tire and his back would not ache. The other men all took their seats as well, one perched on the arm of the couch that only fit three.

"What do you need, sir?" wondered Fuery quietly. The underspoken man watched around nervously, almost assuredly feeling the same offness that still clung in the air.

"I just realized the other day," Mustang started, shooting a semi-defiant look at Hawkeye that said 'I _can_ talk now', "that the group of you have been under my employ for, as a whole, approaching ten years now. And I'm quite sure that I've never thanked any of you for all you've done."

Mustang's introduction was met with five incredulous face and one impassive, unmoving one. Ed's jaw was halfway to touching the floor, and judging by the commotion, the elbow that Havoc had perched on his knee had slipped and he was attempting to recover.

"...Sir…?" Fuery asked, a little blindsided by his words. Sure, he and all of the team (well, except maybe Ed, who did not know Mustang very well) _knew_ that they and their work was deeply, deeply appreciated, and they had never felt slighted (again, except maybe Ed) by Mustang's lack of expressions of praise or gratitude. They knew Mustang's appreciation and gratitude extended beyond words, was imbedded in the trust and loyalty he bore with and for his team.

Mustang had never expressed appreciation for them before, but he had never really had to. So why was he now?

Breda breathed out a quiet, almost nervous laugh, and said, "wow, you're actually thanking us? You feeling okay there, colonel?"

Hawkeye suddenly flinched and, opposing her normal kept together attitude, sharply turned her head to the side. Havoc's brows punched up towards his hairline, but he didn't say a word to her uncharacteristic move.

"Fine," Mustang said sharply, so sharply that Ed almost, for just a second, didn't believe him. But there could be nothing wrong with the colonel… right? Even though he was agonizing to be around and almost hyperbolically annoying, he was still strong and powerful and could overcome anything. _That_ , Ed knew for a fact. "I've just read somewhere that expecting work with no praise is the fastest way to lose a person's passion, motivation, and trust. I don't want to risk that. So, Hawkeye and myself have prepared a little something for us to enjoy."

Without further ado, Mustang leaned forward and grasped the sheet covering the coffee table. Ed had noticed it before, how lumpy and clearly bad at covering up surprises it was, but had chosen not to comment. He stood and lifted the sheet, revealing, much to everyone's vocal surprise, a practical buffet of finger foods and snacks. It smelled _amazing_ , and Ed's stomach snarled loudly enough that he was very quickly reminded just how many meals he had skipped out on today.

Al grasped Ed's shoulders firmly, as if afraid that Ed would dive for the food and horde it all to himself, which was a smart move considering Ed had been thinking of exactly that. They waited for four pairs of incredulous eyes to turn up to their boss. This was, for all intents and purposes, an office party. A _surprise_ office party, that had been very well hidden considering all of them had been here no less than two hours ago.

"Well?" Mustang said goodnaturedly, "before Fullmetal's stomach starts fighting us for dominance, let's dig in. There's punch on my desk, as well as a few more drinks _some of us_ aren't supposed to partake in."

Ed shot him a look, especially when he noticed a couple wine and beer bottles on the desk. He crossed his arms hard over his chest, snarling, "well maybe I don't want any of your dumb drinks anyway."

"Real mature, Fullmetal." Breda let out a full bellied laugh, standing to grab a couple beers as Falman grabbed a plate and dug in.

"Who knows, Fullmetal?" Havoc agreed, "ask nicely and maybe we'll let you try a sip."

For a moment, Ed's face brightened with hidden delight, but three looks, one from Hawkeye, one from Mustang, and one needling at the back of his neck from Al quickly sobered his gaze. "Don't want it anyway," he lied, leaning forward to snatch a plate and collect food. Al went to get him a glass of punch without question.

The night passed slowly and mostly uneventfully. Mustang must have forgot to factor in the two teenagers that would be there, as all that there was to do was converse… but even that, Ed didn't _really_ mind. He genuinely liked the guys at the office, so getting to know them a little more, just spend time with them, was almost genuinely and seriously fun. Al also enjoyed himself conversing with them, happily making small talk with everyone, clearly just ecstatic to be included.

There were a few times in the night, though, that Ed noticed something off. Once, when Mustang tugged out his desk chair and collapsed into it. His face was pale and almost sweaty. Hawkeye went to him with only a little noise of concern, then immediately pulled out a drawer, dug out a few things, then got him a glass of punch. Ed saw Mustang toss a couple of what looked like pills into his mouth then toss back his punch like a shot. Seconds after, he reached for his bottle of beer, but Hawkeye swept it away and went to chat with Falman, shooting Mustang a glib look.

Another time, the instigator was again Mustang. He stepped away from Havoc, Breda, and Ed, where he had been having a rousing conversation, and went into the corner by the bookshelves. He thumbed his temples, took deep breaths, then returned after a few minutes.

Ed thought that maybe he had had too much to drink, but he hadn't been drinking much at all.

The third, once more of the evening had passed, food was mostly gone, and Hawkeye was dutifully starting to gather dishes and throw out extras, happened unexpectedly. Ed and Al had been chatting with Fuery, Mustang beside Ed. Ed had been holding his empty glass of punch, wanting a refill but well aware that all was gone. Ed flinched when something _chinked_ on his glass, whipping his head around in time to see the mouth of a beer bottle against his glass, pouring until it was about half full. He glanced up to the perpetrator, knowing fully who it was, golden eyes suspicious.

Mustang just put his finger to his lips conspiratorially, said, "don't tell Hawkeye," and took his bottle back for another swig. He looked away, the definition of "I was definitely just doing something i should not have", but didn't say another word.

Ed's eyes flicked between his glass and Mustang, then a wolfish grin crossed his lips. "I should arrest you," he said, bringing his new, slightly-more-illegal drink to his lips. He tossed back probably more than he should have, as he had seen Mustang do earlier with his punch… and had to fight his own gag reflex to keep it in his throat like a man would. He forced the liquid down his throat, made a loud and displeased noise that gathered the attention of _everyone_ , and demanded, "you people choose to drink this?!"

Mustang forced out a laugh. "What, too much for you to handle?" Hawkeye, from her place sharing a riveting conversation with Falman, eyed the scene and noticed the amber liquid in Ed's glass that was _definitely_ not punch. She shot him a look, turned an even sourer look on Mustang… and miraculously just shook her head and said nothing. "I suppose, something like this has always needed an… well, we'll say an _advanced palette_ to enjoy. It takes years of experiencing to enjoy something as tasteful as this."

Ed glowered at his smirking bastard of a boss, glared down at his glass, and snarled, "I'll show _you_ an advanced palette!" Without any further ado, he tilted his head back and downed the bitter drink in no more than three gulps. He clapped his emptied glass onto the table and shot at Mustang the same sort of confident I-can-outdrink-you sort of a look that no fifteen year old should ever be wearing.

"So, _there_."

He hiccuped.

"Oh, you sure showed me," Mustang chuckled, lifting his bottle to Ed in a mocking toast. "Just so you know, Fullmetal, I do expect you back in the office at nine o' clock _sharp_ tomorrow morning, and if you're too drunk to walk home this evening, none of us are giving you a ride."

"Alphonse will carry me!"

Al shied away and darted over to the conversation Falman and Hawkeye shared, almost as if a seven foot tall suit of armor could hide behind them. "I'm definitely not part of this conversation," he informed Ed and Mustang. "I want no part in it."

"I challenge you, colonel, to a drinking contest! Right here right now! I'll _bet_ I can drink you _under the table_!"

"Would you look at that, the alcohol is already getting to you, perhaps this was a bad idea. Sure doesn't take long to get through that tiny body of yours, does it?"

Edward saw a glorious shade of red, staining the room the color of blood. "Right here, right now! I'll bet you I can drink you right under the table! If you pass out first, you have to—you have to pay for every meal from tomorrow morning until—until a month from now! A whole month!"

"Don't I already?" Mustang wondered airily, and to Ed's surprise, a soft, almost affectionate look crossed Mustang's eyes.

"And if _I_ pass out first—I'll, um… oh, I'll wash your car! Every weekend for a month!"

Mustang put on a face that said he was seriously considering it, saying, "well, she _has_ been needing a shine… you know what? Fine." Hawkeye made a loud, almost nervous noise of disapproval, and Al squeaked out what was possibly a protest, but Ed couldn't really hear them over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. "I'll take that bet. You're on, pipsqueak."

* * *

Needless to say, Ed did not last long after that.

When he woke up, it was due to a pounding headache, pounding so hard he thought someone was taking a sledgehammer right to his face. He tried to open his eyes, but even with the lights inside definitely off, they burned _so badly_. What even happened last night? He remembered… drinking… probably more than he should have. He remembered challenging Mustang to a drinking contest—debatably a bad idea since that had been his first sip of alcohol _ever_ … but nothing else after that.

The only thing he registered, when he finally managed to open his eyes, was that he was back in bed (he definitely had no idea how he got there) and wrapped up in warm blankets, his curtains were drawn, and when he wiggled about and pulled out his watch, he found it was quickly approaching noon.

Something niggling told him that he was late for something, but his headache took priority. He opened his eyes again and found a note, a glass of (hopefully) water, and some pills.

 _You start on Saturday._

 _Never drink again_

Ed rolled his eyes, downed the pills, and chased them with a sip of water. Then he turned back onto his side and burrowed back into his pillow, entirely forgetting every reason he might have worried from the evening before.

* * *

This chapter is much more lighthearted than the next one will be.

I hope you liked it! Please don't forget to review! See you all Monday!


	2. Chapter 2

~Chapter 2~

 **Date** : 4/9/2018

Special thanks to: _wrongnotes, Jirachi at Sundown, Ranowa Hikura, Gaaralover69, darkraistlyn, alightintheshadows_

Guest: Ahhh, you don't have to be nervous... heh... heh...

* * *

Following the party, the next four weeks passed in relative peace. Nothing terribly eventful happened; he went off on a mission that lasted only about a week, returned to do paperwork, then did a whoooole lot of research. He thought he spotted Mustang in the library there several times, but he also wasn't paying much attention so he definitely could have been wrong. And even if it _had_ been Mustang, Ed wouldn't have wanted to waste much time with him anyway, so it hardly mattered. Who cared? Mustang was a smart man—certainly not a genius like Edward and Alphonse both were, but still, a smart man. There were probably some days that he wanted to spend surrounded by books just like Ed and Al did. Who wouldn't want to, on the occasion?

That wasn't the only thing weird, though.

As time went, Ed found himself more and more often dropping something off in his office only to find him not working _at all_. In fact he found him on his little couch, enjoying himself a little nap.

Ed made to wake him on more than one occasion, but to his surprise, he was stopped by a soft-faced First Lieutenant Hawkeye, who would cup his shoulder, steer him around, and urge him to get back to work. And she didn't even have a word for the sleeping colonel.

There were also more and more pill bottles, but that was something Ed had discovered after sneakily digging in his desk looking for a pen. Most of them were names he couldn't pronounce or didn't recognize, although he did spy the occasional sleep aid or pain killer.

There was even a point where Ed had come into Mustang's office only to interrupt some sort of meeting with a stuffy looking lawyer or businessman. Mustang and the man had shared a look, then the man picked up the paper he had been scribbling on and stuffed it into his case. Mustang said, "right. We'll continue this later on," they shook hands, and the man darted around Ed like a bat out of hell. Ed had no idea what had been going on, but for some reason it felt slightly… illegal. Ed tried to pester Mustang about it for the rest of the evening, but Mustang was tight lipped and refused a single word, eventually making Ed promise to drop it. Ed didn't like it, but he agreed.

As per the bet that Ed had drunkenly challenged (the note was right and Ed was never drinking again), Ed made it over to Mustang's house to wash his stupid car. And even this occurrence was very very… weird. Mustang greeted him with a sardonic, snarky little grin, then steered him right out to the car. But instead of telling him how he wanted it washed, he said, "get in."

And then Mustang climbed into the passenger's side.

Ed had stared disbelievingly for an almost embarrassingly long time, looking between his boss in the passenger's side and the empty driver's side. Mustang asked what he was waiting for, and Ed said a little incredulously, "I don't—know how to drive."

"I'm aware," Mustang said with a shrug. He waited again, so Ed, almost nervously, climbed in on the empty side.

"Buckle in," Mustang commanded, buckling himself in as well. "Driving is all about knowing who and what is around you at all—"

"What are you doing?" Ed interrupted, more than a little mindboggled. He had never driven before… and Mustang was acting like he wanted to show him.

"...I had planned to teach you how to drive. You are, after all, fifteen already, approaching sixteen. This is important stuff and I think you should know."

"I'm not supposed to be behind the wheel of a car until I'm sixteen."

"Alone," Mustang corrected. "With a responsible adult, you're fine."

"...You just want another chauffeur, don't you?" Ed accused with a tiny scowl. Part of him was excited to learn how to drive, but all of him wanted to know why Mustang wanted to teach him.

"...Maybe. Well?"

Ed pursed his lips, looking down to the wheel in front of him and glancing all around outside. "I've never driven before."

"I'm actually aware," Mustang said, pitching his brows. "I'm here to teach you. And besides—with the weather and the long holiday weekend, most everyone nearby is on vacation, and we're not far from an abandoned parkway. If you can safely drive me to the parkway, then I'll teach you. If you can't—well, we'll cross that hurdle if we come to it."

Ed eyed him nervously, glancing all around. Mustang was right; the weather _was_ beautiful and was expected to be all week, and with a three day long weekend, and many dangers out on vacation, a trip down the block shouldn't be too bad. "...Okay. Whatever, I guess."

"Perfect. Get comfortable then, so you can see all around you. I can grab a couple phone books if you need them—"

Mustang narrowly avoided a metal hand slamming down onto his thigh.

"Adjust all your mirrors." Ed did. "And here we go."

Miraculously, Ed did get them safely to the parkway and even safely back. It took a little longer than Ed expected and he was pretty sure that he gave Mustang a few more hard jolts than he was expecting (and he thought he saw Mustang pull out a handkerchief and cough a bloody cough into it afterward? But he only saw a little bit of red, and for all he knew that had been there the entire time.), but they made it there, messed around in the parkway, and back without breaking any bones or causing any wrecks.

And immediately after that, Ed went to cleaning his car. And that's the way his weekends went. Mustang let him drive around for a little bit, he cleaned his car, and then Mustang either made him a quick lunch ("as thanks for a job well done") or took him out to supper. And surprisingly… they _talked_. They _chatted_. Sure, Ed still thought he was annoying, a bit of an asshole, and a lot of a prick, but… well, he found out that Roy Mustang was more human than he expected.

He saw him cough. A lot. He took a lot of naps at home, too. Ed wanted to accuse him of being lazy, but something felt off about it all, so he didn't.

The Sunday after the last Saturday that Ed had to wash his car, Ed got a late night call. He answered the phone, prepared to chew out whomever had the gall to interrupt his sleep-but-actually-research time, when a somewhat weak and brittle voice came through.

" _Fullmetal—it's Mustang."_

Ed groaned aloud—whomever had called him didn't matter, it was _nearly eleven o'clock at night and this wasn't fair_ —and demanded, "what do you want _now_? I'm done washing your car! And I made sure to do a really good job on it yesterday so you wouldn't bitch! I waxed it and everything!"

" _I know I know, she's sparkling, you said. But you left something here yesterday and I need you to come pick it up."_

"Pick it— _hell_ no! It's almost eleven o'clock at night! I'll see you at the office tomorrow anyway, just bring it in."

" _You need to come pick it up."_

" _Why_?!" Ed demanded, forcing back a yawn. "It's late and that's halfway across town! Bring it in tomorrow."

" _...Please, Ed. Come pick it up. And bring Alphonse with you."_

Al, who either had super sonic hearing, was listening in, or perhaps Mustang was just speaking too loud, looked up from his book at his name.

...And that was all it took. Mustang rarely if _ever_ said please. He made demands and gave orders. That Mustang had said please at all said that Mustang _needed_ them there.

But why? Was Mustang in trouble? Had someone… broken into his home and he was holed up in his closet and he needed backup ASAP?

But, no. That was ridiculous. Mustang was military _and_ a State Alchemist himself, he could take care of himself. _And_ , he would never call Ed first. Hell, Ed would probably be at the bottom of his list.

So maybe he was being held hostage and whomever had him wanted Ed and Al? And if they didn't come, Mustang would die?

Even that notion sounded ridiculous, but Ed could think of no other explanation.

So, Mustang needed him.

...Which pretty much tossed any notion of 'choice' out the window.

"...Brother…?" Al wondered quietly when Ed sighed dramatically. Ed mouthed 'In a minute' at him, then turned back to the phone.

"Sure, okay, whatever. We'll be there in like half an hour, that alright?"

" _Perfect. Alphonse too?"_

"I said _we_ , didn't I? Gah—yeah, Al too. Whatever. See you soon."

" _...See you soon._ "

Mustang hung up. Ed flopped onto his bed overdramatically with a loud and decidedly unnecessary groan.

"What was that about, brother?"

"I don't know," Ed said earnestly, because not a single part of him understood what was going on, "put your books away, Al—we're going to Mustang's."

"The colonel's?" Al demanded, glancing to the clock. "It's—eleven o'clock at night! You see him tomorrow!"

"I know, I know… but he said 'please'."

Al stared at him, dumbfounded, but received no further answer from Ed. He sighed and shook his head, but packed up his books and set them on the shelf. "He wanted both of us? I could just go. You should sleep."

"He wanted both of us."

Al made an affronted little noise and glanced back to the clock to make sure he was reading it right. When E slipped into his boots and coat, though, he followed Ed out and into the night without another word.

Ed didn't mention the trepidation knotting at his belly the closer they got to Mustang's home.

Something definitely wasn't right.

* * *

Surprisingly, it wasn't Mustang at all, who answered the door in Mustang's own home. In the doorway stood First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. Her hair was disheveled, her face was pale, her eyes red and face sad. Still, she smiled a weak and wobbly little smile at them and welcomed them warmly.

"Oooh, Hawkeye," said Ed, unable to fight off the joke. "And what are _you_ doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you two, and of Lieutenant Havoc," Hawkeye said back snarkily. Her response gobsmacked Ed with both the words and attitude. She wasn't normally so sardonic. And, Havoc was here too? It was a regular party.

"Mustang said Ed left something here, yesterday?" Alphonse asked politely.

"Ahh—right. He mentioned something like that, but he didn't tell me what it was. Come in."

"Thank you," said Al, and Ed quickly mumbled the same under his breath. They followed her in without another word.

The house was well lit for being so late at night. There was a fire in the fireplace and all the lamps around the living room were lit. Mustang was seated in his armchair, running over some notes that Ed couldn't see. He looked up when Hawkeye introduced them, then quickly closed the notes and set them aside.

So. Mustang looked safe and unafraid. Hawkeye and Havoc were here. There was most likely no danger in this place at all. Why, exactly, did Mustang absolutely need both Edward and Alphonse there _right now_?

"What," Ed snapped, "do you need _right the fuck now_?"

"Language, Edward," Hawkeye admonished softly.

"Why _exactly_ couldn't you bring it to the office tomorrow?"

"Good evening to you, too," Mustang greeted with a weak little smile. "Thank you for coming. Take a seat, would you?"

" _Whyyyyy_?" Ed whined. He slumped onto the couch with a loud complaint. "I could be sleeping!"

"You weren't," Mustang said knowingly. "Sit tight. I'll be right back with your leftover."

"Food?! Ugh." Ed rolled his neck and leaned his head against the back of the couch. Alphonse took a seat beside him, looking around the living room. He'd never been in Mustang's house before.

"Uh, colonel?"

"Yes, Al?"

"Where's Havoc?"

Mustang paused, halfway to rising from his chair. "...Havoc?"

"Yeah. Lieutenant Hawkeye said that Havoc was here."

"Oh. Right." Mustang shook his head and heaved himself up from his chair with a wet groan. "Yeah, Havoc's just getting things prepared." Mustang walked around the coffee table and around the back of the couch.

"Things? What things?"  
"Don't worry about it," Mustang said. As he passed Ed by, he ruffled his hair gently, laughing when Ed just batted his hand away and spat, "don't touch my hair."

"I'll be right back. Sit tight."

Ed _harrumphed_ loudly, crossing his arms over his chest. " _Whatever_."

To the side, Hawkeye made a soft noise and took a step away from Roy's chair. "There is something I need to take care of as well. I'll be in the study if you need me at all, boys. Roy shouldn't be long."

"Sure," Ed scoffed. "But come on, Hawkeye. I see it in your eyes. Be real. Why did Mustang drag us here? I don't remember leaving anything behind yesterday. What does this asshole want?"

Hawkeye paused and looked down to Ed. A sad little smile crossed over her face, and Ed quickly ducked his head to avoid a hand he feared may be coming for his bangs. "...See you two later, boys," Hawkeye hummed. She left the room as well, her steps moving a little faster as she neared the hallway until a door down the hall slammed shut.

Ed and Al both flinched, watching her go. Wasn't that… odd. She was normally so stoic, but if Ed had to guess from her actions and very little expression, he would have guessed that she was… grieving. But grieving what?

"...Brother."

"I know."

"Something is off, brother. Can't you feel it?"

"I _know_ ," Ed said again, his stomach knotting nervously. Something was more than just _off_. Something was genuinely _wrong_. Why had they invited them in and then just _left them_? Why would Mustang have invited him over to pick up his 'left over', and not have it with him? Or not _at least_ know where it was? Why was it taking him so damn long?!

Ed took a huge breath before he could continue, shaking his head fiercely. No, it was _okay_. This was Mustang. He could trust Mustang. And if he couldn't trust Mustang, he could sure as _hell_ trust Hawkeye. Nothing was going on. They were just picking up some leftovers. At… at eleven o'clock at night. Nothing weird. Nothing suspicious about that. Not at. All.

His heart started pounding hard, anxiety thrumming at his breast. His paranoia was acting up spectacularly. He felt nervous sweat prickle at his brow and the back of his neck, his hands shook with nerves, everything, _everything_ , was wrong, was off, was—

"Brother, something is _wrong_ ," Al interrupted his racing nerves, looking all around. "I can't pick out exactly what it is, but something is _wrong_. There's some kind of gross… gross _energy_. Can you feel it?"

"Yeah," Ed agreed softly. "Yeah, I feel it. Something is wrong."

"Alphonse!" Hawkeye's voice echoed from the study. "Can you help me with something real quick?"

Al hesitated, looking over at Ed nervously like he knew this was a ruse, but a deep need to help someone who needed it battled for dominance with his caution.

Then, after a second of indecision, Ed said, "whatever, it's Hawkeye. Go see what she needs."

"Okay," Al chirped. He hopped off the chair and stepped toward the hall Riza had gone down, opening up a door and slipping inside quietly.

Leaving Ed all alone.

Despite the warmth of the fire and the light of the lamps, it was remarkably creepy in this house. It was silent, Mustang was taking too long, and Al was right. There was something in the energy here that was dark, foreboding, and mysterious. Ed didn't like it.

There was a _clack_ down the hall and what sounded like a door shutting. Ed looked around all over his shoulder, twisting himself all over the place to see. Finally, after what must have been nearly _forever_ , Mustang appeared in the living room. His hands were tucked behind his back, concealing whatever mysterious thing had been left behind. Otherwise he looked normal. How… weird.

"What is it?" ed demanded. "What stupid thing did I leave, huh? I wanna go home and _sleep_."

"You wouldn't be, anyway," Mustang said, a weird emotion in his voice. He came up behind Ed quietly.

Ed tried to twist his head around to keep an eye on his superior. Something was off about what he was doing and saying and just—wrong. "C'mon, what did I leave?"

Mustang lifted a hand and brushed it on his hair as if he was ruffling it again, even though Ed had _specifically said_ not to touch it again. "Don't touch my—"

The hand on his head moved to his forehead and forced his head back against his abdomen. Ed gasped hard, not expecting the sudden assault, and in that moment Mustang brought his other hand around and covered his mouth and nose with a sweet smelling rag. He didn't know what was going on, but his every instinct _screamed_ at him to _not breathe not breathe and FIGHT!_ He tried swinging his elbows up to jam them in his attacking superior officer's stomach, but the couch blocked his path and made twisting around awkward. He couldn't bite because he didn't want to risk breathing in whatever was on the rag, and the hand on his forehead kept him from moving his head around and escaping. He lashed out with his legs to cause a commotion or grab someone's attention, but all he did was kick over the coffee table, which apparently no one cared about.

"Shhh, shhhh," Mustang said above him, somehow attempting to soothe him even though he was in the middle of drugging him. "Shh, I know you're afraid, but it'll be alright."

Alright? _ALRIGHT_?! How was it going to be _alright?!_ Mustang was trying to kidnap him! Ed wanted to yell, to scream and shriek and just _demand answers_ , but he couldn't know what was going to happen after Mustang drugged him and he was honestly too scared to just _let it happen_.

"Ed," said Mustang, and there was still that bizarre emotion that Ed had rarely heard from him in his voice. It sounded almost affectionate, but how, how _dare_ he be affectionate now of all times?! How dare he?!

 _Oh god what's he going to do to me_?

"Ed, you're going to have to breathe at some point, you might as well just let it happen."

 _What's he going to do SOMEONE HELP ME_!

There was a crash in the other room, and all Ed could think was that Al knew something was up and was coming to help him. Relief coursed through him for a split second, until Al's echoing voice demanded, "wait, stop, what are you—doing to me Hawkeye STOP!"

 _ALPHONSE_!

Against all judgment and every instinct, all of Ed's survival instincts went towards Al's safety. He fought harder and made, made to yell and scream and—

He opened his mouth and breathed in the sickly sweet scent and sealed his doom.

The drug took a minute of Ed's fighting to start taking effect, but he could feel his movement become sluggish and slow. He reached a hand up and dug his nails into Mustang's arm, attempting to tear him off and maybe reverse the effects, but it was too late.

"Good, good boy," Mustang hummed above him, the hand on his forehead starting to stroke his bangs as if attempting to soothe him. His other hand jammed the rag further between Ed's lips, forcing his mouth open and ensuring that he continued to breathe in the damning drug. "Good…"

" _Mno_ ," Ed gasped around the rag, trying to pull Mustang's hand away, more afraid for his life than he had genuinely felt in a long time. " _Blease—mno…"_

"Hush, Ed," Mustang soothed as the drug really started to set in. His hand dropped from Mustang's arm and blackness crept in around his sight. Mustang leaned his chin onto Ed's head and, though Ed was hardly able to feel it as his entire body went numb, Mustang pressed his lips against Ed's temple, kissing him briefly. "It's going to be alright, I promise."

Ed wanted to demand how the _hell_ he was supposed to trust that, but his mouth was occupied with a rag and his mind with confusion. His legs and arms stopped moving completely as the darkness made a steady attempt at coating everything he saw. He finally gave up and closed his eyes, letting the drug's effects take over.

The very last thing that crossed his mind was ' _my superior officer is going to kill me_ ,' and the last thing that he heard was Havoc's voice saying, "I wish you'd told them what was going on. They've got to be so scared", and Mustang responding, "did you think they would let me do this if they knew what was happening? They wouldn't understand. No, this was the only way. Can you carry him? We don't have much time."

* * *

When consciousness returned, all Ed could feel was the cold ground beneath him. That, and the sick and twisted feeling, even stronger than before, that something was _wrong_. He fought the wave of nausea that was settling in, fought off an aching and pounding headache, and opened his eyes.

Dark.

It was all dark around him except a few small spots of light that looked like candles. He was laying on cement. His entire body was sore, which was generally a telltale sign that he had been knocked out. But what had happened? Where was he?

Right—right… Mustang had kidnapped him. He had drugged him and was planning to do _something_ to him. Had he done it? What did he plan to do with him? Torture him? That could explain the soreness. But—no, he wasn't in pain-pain, just sore-pain. He ached, but nothing terribly _hurt_. Not in a way to explain what he'd done to him.

Ed sat up further and rubbed his left hand over his face. His eyes hurt. His best explanation right now was that he was locked away in Mustang's basement while Havoc and Hawkeye and him laughed it up at their foolishness. They had spent four years gaining his trust—what, all in an elaborate attempt to kidnap him? It sounded ridiculous, but it was the only thing anymore that made sense.

He didn't want to be here anymore. He wanted to get out, find Alphonse, and go back to—

 _ALPHONSE_!

Alphonse had been attacked as well! He heard him tell Hawkeye to stop whatever she was doing! Was Al down here with him?! If he was, escaping would be _easy_! Al could just break down the door and they would be gone! Mustang couldn't stop them!

Ed twisted all around, feeling with relief that he wasn't restrained. He smacked both palms to the floor, feeling a chalky substance beneath them, and opened his mouth to call his brother's name.

Except…

Both his palms were stinging.

He looked down to his hands, seeing pale pink on both backs. But that couldn't be possible…

He leaned back to take his weight from his hands and lifted them up to his face. The pale light of the room let him see that both hands were identical, although one was significantly weaker than the other.

There was no automail.

He quickly lifted his right hand and gave his inner arm a pinch. A dream! Maybe this was all a dream! He'd wake up and go to the office and everything would be normal! Mustang never even called him over to his house in the first place!

" _Ow_!"

Okay. No. No dream. That had _hurt_ but he was still _here,_ trapped in this basement with two flesh arms and no sense.

He threw himself to his backsides and rolled up his left pantleg. If his right arm was here in the flesh, what about his left leg…?

But, no. He knocked his knuckles on his leg and it echoed softly. Still automail. So did that mean—

 _You pulled your brother's soul back with one arm._

Ed whipped his head around. If his arm was back, did that mean—was Al _gone_?! " _Alphonse_!"

His eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and through the minimal light, he saw someone laying there beside him. They had long hair and looked frail, laying on their back. Their chest was moving up and down just barely; they hardly even looked alive.

 _What the hell did Mustang do?_

He crawled over to this person who seemed barely alive. When he touched their shoulder, their skin was chilled. The body flinched hard and moaned but otherwise didn't awaken. Ed brushed their hair from their face, looking at it to see who else his apparently insane commanding officer had kidnapped. He didn't recognize them but only a little bit, the shape of the nose and the jaw, and the hair color was unmistakably golden; maybe Mustang secretly had something against blonds…?

Then, on the side of the body's neck, right at the junction between neck and jaw, there was a pocked little scar that Ed remembered from his time spent with Alphonse on Yock Island.

But that would mean… with his arm back… and that scar… Al…

" _ALPHONSE_?!"

The body moaned again and started moving their (his?) head. Then he blinked open bleary eyes and looked all around before finally settling on Ed. He squinted at Ed, trying to see through the darkness, then very quietly he asked, "b-brother…?"

That was Alphonse's voice! Unmistakably! Oh, it—it made no sense but somehow, somehow he was _here_ , he was here _in the flesh_! They had done it! They were almost completely whole! All that was left was Ed's metal leg, but he didn't care, he didn't _care_ about his leg because ALPHONSE WAS THERE!

"Al!"

Ed leaned down and scooped the shaking naked body to his chest, hugging him close as elation erased every other emotion from his mind. Who cared what was going on! Al was back in the flesh and it made no sense but _everything_ was going to be okay now!

"I-it's you, you're _you_! Look at you!" Ed gasped, squeezing him tight. He gasped a little sob and buried his face in Al's long, definitely greasy and brittle hair. He couldn't believe this was happening. This had to be—some sort of dream, of trick, of _lie_ , some sort of _something_!

But he'd already ruled out the dream, and he wasnt entirely sure how it could be a trick ot a lie (although that could be the headache talking). So that meant it _had_ to be real. It had to be! Al was alive and in the flesh, and they were going home tomorrow!

"Brother?" Al said breathily, lifting a fragile hand to touch Ed's face and gasping at the touch. He took an extra moment to feel Ed's face, then mumbled, "brother, you're squeezing too hard…"

"Sorry," Ed gasped, loosening his hold but only barely. "Sorry, Al. How do you feel?"

"...Sore. But… but good. Really, really good. Brother, is this…?"

"Yeah," Ed said, "this is real. You're really, really here!"

Al whined a wordless breath and looked around him, squinting at the world through new—or perhaps very _old_ —eyes. "Where… are we?"

"Mustang's basement I think. I don't know what he wants with us, but—but it doesn't matter. We'll get out and head home tomorrow."

"Yeah…"

A light suddenly flickered on above them and Ed flinched hard. He didn't know what to expect, so he held Al closer, glaring up to the offender.

A door creaked open at the top of the stairs Ed was seeing, and two pairs of feet were quickly brought into view. Havoc and Hawkeye looked down at them from the stairs, their eyes wide as if not expecting to see them.

"You're awake!"

Both adults rushed down the stairs, nearing them quickly. Hawkeye reached out to touch Al's face, but Ed held him closer and glared. They had better have a goddamn _good_ explanation. "What's going on! What does Mustang want with us! I never left something here at all! He just wanted to—to—to kidnap us! What's he gonna do? Kill us? _Sell_ us?"

Havoc moved to defend Mustang's name, but Hawkeye held out her hand. She crouched before the boys, both of whom were eyeing her fearfully, and said, "Roy Mustang is dead."

"Wh—I—wha…?" Well then—what—were Havoc and Hawkeye here to rescue them? But no, that would make no sense. Hawkeye had attacked Alphonse.

"He died about ten minutes ago," Hawkeye continued. "He wanted us to make sure you two got to a hospital. At the very least, Alphonse is going to need it. Ed—if you could please let Havoc take Al?"

Ed's arms loosened for a second, but mistrust shone bright in his eyes, and before Havoc could even get close, Ed was clinging again. "No. No! You two were in on it! He… M-Mustang knocked me out! What's going on?! And what do you mean, he's _dead_?"

"...We were," Havoc agreed, his hands in his pockets. "He wasn't going to be able to do everything on his own, after all."

"THAT DOESNT ANSWER MY QUESTION! I'm knocked out, shoved into Mustang's fucking _basement_ , and I wake up with Alphonse _back_ and my arm _returned_ , I DESERVE AN EXPLANATION!"

"Calm down, chief, or you'll wear yourself out," Havoc said. "Take a look around, it might make a little more sense."

"Take a look—" Still, Ed did, looking all around the room.

The basement looked like a dusty old cellar. Not much went on here, that much was clear. There was an old water heater, and a laundry station, but not much else. But here on the floor…

Yep, they were definitely sitting in chalk. In an array.

It was… an array that Ed recognized.

It was insanely complex and huge, spanning an entire corner of the basement. Ancient Xerxian was written all around the circle. It looked like a circle for human transmutation! But—was Mustang going to make them…? They had woken up _inside_ it, though… had someone somehow performed it on them…? That could explain Al's return to the flesh and the return of Ed's arm… but who…?

There was a set of clothes discarded at the side of the circle, much too big for either of them there… but who…?

 _Roy Mustang is dead_.

Had… had… but that didn't make sense! Mustang was hardly _friendly_ with them! Why would he…? Had he intended to bring them back, somehow? Why?! This was… this was _ridiculous_ at _best_ , but absolutely _insane_ at the worst and… and…!

"Where's Mustang? I wanna talk—to that _asshole_!"

"He's _dead_ , Ed," Havoc hummed.

" _Bullshit_ he is!" Why would Mustang kidnap them just in time to get his stupid ass _killed_? No, _none_ of this was making sense, _none_ of it!

"Ed—"

"No! He can't be! He pulled off all this—this _bullshit_ , and…"

Havoc leaned forward and carefully pried Al out of Ed's slacking grip. He pulled his coat off and wrapped it around Al's naked, shaking body. "We need to get you to the hospital. Your arm needs to be looked at, nevermind that Al's gonna have a lot of recovering to do."

Hawkeye came around him now that Al was in Havoc's arms. She put her arm around him and heaved him to his feet. Ed got a good look all around again, his eyes falling back to the deflated clothing just outside of the circle, clothing that looked about the colonel's size. None of this was making any sense. He was scared and nervous and so so confused, but…

What had Mustang done? Had he really, somehow, performed human transmutation? _Successfully_? But… but _how_?

"Hawkeye?" Ed asked when Hawkeye started walking him out of the circle, following Havoc who was already halfway up the stairs with Al. "What…? What happened? I woke up in a human transmutation circle with Al at my back and… I don't understand. What happened to Mustang?"

Hawkeye sighed hard and looked up to the doorway at the top of the stairs. She blinked hard a few times, and when Ed glanced over to her, he noticed that her eyes glowed red and were still moist with tears. "I told you, Ed," she said once she managed to collect herself. "Roy Mustang died ten minutes ago. He died, so that you and Alphonse could have your original bodies back. Don't ask anymore questions until later, okay? We're all still… _reeling_."

 _He died, so that you and Alphonse could have your original bodies back_.

Ed's mouth dropped open as he was lead up the stairs, looking back down to the transmutation circle and the last place Mustang was seen alive. Mustang had given up his life, so that Ed and Al could continue with theirs. But… everything that had happened earlier…?

 _Did you think they would let me do this if they knew what was happening? They wouldn't understand_.

This all _had_ been an elaborate ruse. But not a ruse to kidnap them, like he had at first foolishly thought. It was a ruse… to get their bodies back. To save them from their own mistake.

And… he didn't understand.

"But… why…?"

"No more questions, Ed," Hawkeye said. A crack in her voice broke her words, but after a moment, she continued, "please. Not now."

* * *

:D

Update on Monday!


	3. Chapter 3

~Chapter 3~

 **Date** : 4/19/2018

Special thanks to: _alightintheshadows, blakeBird, Id9916, Jirachi at Sundown, Ranowa Hikura,_ and _thestaffofra_

Guest: Awwww thank you! I hope this chapter clears things up a little more! And of COURSE not, how could I ignore _Alphonse_? I admit I don't write about him as much as I do Ed, but STILL

A/N: Last chapter! Thanks to everyone who read, favorited, and/or reviewed! Just a warning, there is **mentions of cancer** in this chapter! Nothing much, but that was the intentions of this fic from the beginning! Just in case it makes anyone queasy or nervous. (Also, pardon if anything seems incorrect at all). Ed probably isn't spot on with his character, but... hey, leave him alone. He just lost his dad and he's grieving. And sorry it's late, but this _is_ over 9000 words, cut me some slack ;)

Enjoy! Please don't forget to review and let me know how I did!

* * *

Alphonse had to spend the next week cooped up in quarantine, since he had virtually no immune system and something as small as the common cold could kill him. He didn't really seem to mind, though, seeing as he spent over half that week fast asleep for the first time in four years.

Ed, reeling at the events and just wanting to be near to Al, stayed in there with him. The only way he was allowed in was if he got all of his immunizations updated, waited a day, and wore a mask and gloves when he was in with him. So he (quite bravely, he thought) accepted his fate, squared his shoulders, and let himself be punctured five different times. He even suited up in mask and gloves (the gloves came off as soon as the doctor was gone, but he kept the mask on for fear of airborne bacteria) and washed his hands every hour on the hour "just to be safe".

Al was only allowed another visitor on the third day, and she, too, had to wear a mask and gloves and wash her hands. Al slept on, had hardly even awoken but a couple times and was unaffected by another presence.

Hawkeye pulled up the chair beside him and sank into it, looking at the sleeping boy. She didn't say a word for a good long while, just sitting beside Ed and seeing something that even Ed was afraid he would never have seen again.

Finally, after long moments taking in a fresh, beautiful new sight, Hawkeye sat up straight and glanced to the side, at Ed. Ed wasn't looking at her, didn't know what to say. She was clearly still grief stricken by the loss of her commander ( _all his fault_ ) and reeling from all the new changes, but was trying her damndest to be as strong and confident as ever, even in the face of uncertainty. Riza Hawkeye was not one to back down from a challenge, Ed had always known that, but he didn't expect for that to be made quite so clear.

"How are you doing?" Hawkeye finally asked, her voice soft and gentle to accommodate Alphonse. She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder (his _right_ , _flesh_ shoulder!), giving it a soft squeeze. His shoulder twinged when the leftover port, not yet under surgery, rubbed against returned bone and made an awful sound he heard in his teeth, but he didn't push her away.

"Fine," he lied softly, never taking his eyes off his little brother. He probably hadn't looked away since the day he was finally allowed in.

In actuality, he wasn't doing _bad_. Given the circumstances of Al's impossible return, he thought he was doing more than fine. When Al was released, they'd go home to Resembool, he'd be living off pension and so would have plenty of time to relax, and all would be well.

Except that all was not well. It was all soured by the dirty, damning truth that there was a man, dead because of him. Because he believed so little in Ed and Al, that the only way he saw them accomplishing their goal was by giving up his life. Ed would have to live with that knowledge, forever, that Roy Mustang was _dead_ , because of _him_.

"How's the arm?"

Ed glanced down to his new flesh arm. It was actually hung in a sling, so brittle that the doctors feared putting any pressure on it until the calcium drops he was now taking really kicked in and his arm really started healing. It would only have to be that way for about a week, they suspected. Ed could already feel it getting stronger, and couldn't wait to leave the stupid sling behind.

"It's fine. A little sore, but fine."

"And how is he?" Hawkeye asked. Honestly, Ed wasn't in the mood for talking much, but that was kind of normal nowadays. Ed had been avoiding Mustang's team like the plague since they were brought to the hospital, pretending to be asleep when they came to talk, or outright not allowing visitors. He had killed their commander, after all. It was doubtful they wanted anything to do with him. Nothing good, at least.

"Fine," he said lamely. "He sleeps most of the day. He's starting to talk again when he's awake. They said he just needed rest. Which, I mean, doesn't make a lot of sense to me because he was resting that whole time in the Gate, but it's working."

"Good, I'm glad," Hawkeye said with a little smile in her voice. She looked back to Al in silence, as if waiting for him to awaken or maybe waiting for something else.

For what? An apology? He was still too stricken and confused to understand anything beyond that he was at fault. He didn't know why it had to happen or really how it had happened. What Mustang had done made no sense in his mind whatsoever, but… but Mustang had done it. Ed and Al were there. Somehow, he'd done the friggin impossible. And he had died to do it.

Ed said nothing at all, and hoped that wouldn't damage a now strained relationship further.

After the silence stretched just past uncomfortable for Ed, Riza breathed out a soft sigh and looked over at him. "We decided that he disappeared," she said almost under her breath, clasping her hands in her lap.

"Disappeared?"

"Al," Hawkeye explained. "To explain where he's been and why he's mistreated. He disappeared one evening and after a year of looking on your own, you enlisted the help of the military. We only found him a few days ago, just happened upon him. He had escaped on his own, we decided, and was heading back to find you when we stumbled upon him. Does that sound fair?"

They had… made an excuse for Al? He supposed that made sense. If anyone did even a little digging, they could have uncovered that Al wasn't once as human as they claimed. This at least started to cover their tracks.

"What about the… armor?"

"A mechanical device," Hawkeye said smoothly. "And anyone who has seen inside has been contacted and informed of the change. And…"

Ed paused and finally looked up her way, waiting on the 'and'. What else was there? Alphonse's armor was covered, as was his body, and no way she'd let anything go wrong with what Mustang did. Right? "And what?"

"We set Mustang's house ablaze. To cover for the body."

Ed flinched hard, eyes stretching wide. They had set Mustang's house on fire? Was that… _conceivable_? Mustang being the Flame Alchemist would know about fire and wouldn't let his own entire house be set aflame. What was the work around for that? And besides, a body wouldn't burn to ash so quickly that a fire rescue team couldn't get to it. That was no work around. They'd still wonder the lack of a body! "Bu—"

"Mustang had crafted a fake body for us out of a pig and some chemicals. There's a coroner that owed Mustang a favor, so he fudged his dental records. For all intents and purposes, Mustang burned up in his home, in his basement. Along with every bit of evidence that he may have performed something taboo before he died."

They destroyed all of the evidence in the same way that Ed and Al had. Burn everything to the ground. And though he hadn't seen the state of Mustang's home for obvious reasons, he knew from the state of his old home that it would work.

"The running theory," Hawkeye went on without looking at Ed. Her voice was starting to break a little. It became clear, the more that she spoke, that Mustang was more to her than just a commanding officer. He had always known that they were closer than most commanders and subordinates were—it was the same with the whole team—but there was something so… so almost _heartbreaking_ about having it proven to him. "Is that he got himself a little drunk and was messing around with his alchemy. The combination of fire and alcohol got to him in the end. Colonel Douglas first presented the idea, spreading it like a rumor, but it covered his tracks so we went with it. You were never there, alright? Mustang was alone all evening."

"Okay," Ed hummed quietly. Never there. Except that they _were_. They _were_ , and Mustang had set up this clever ruse that scared the living daylights out of both him and Alphonse and returned them to their original bodies. They were there, and because of it Roy Mustang was dead.

But he couldn't say that, because surely Mustang's reputation was already suffering from his drunken death, but if he were to tell the truth it would ruin his reputation even more. And even if Mustang was gone and his reputation would have no effect on him anymore, Ed couldn't bring himself to ruin it.

There was a knock on the door, and Ed and Hawkeye both turned up to look at it. The door creaked open, and a fair haired nurse poked her head in. She, too, wore a mask, but she wore no gloves. Ed guiltily hid his gloveless hands between his knees, but she didn't seem to notice them. "Riza?" she said, a soft but sad little smile in her voice. "There are a few things left for you to sign, if you could please."

Hawkeye smiled at her, her eyes crinkling in the corners to show, and she nodded. "Sure, Sandra. I'll be there in just a minute. Thank you."

The nurse, Sandra apparently, nodded and dipped back out, softly closing the door behind her.

"What could _you_ have left to sign?" Ed wondered. She wasn't in the hospital, after all. And no one had needed more visitor papers after they had visited _him_ in the hospital. Was it because Al's situation was so severe?

"You're only fifteen, Ed, and legally you have no agency. Ordinarily, Mustang would act as your legal guardian, but for obvious reasons he can't. I pushed to be your legal guardian until you were clear of the military and Ms Rockbell could file. Just to keep you out of… ill-intentioned hands. I pulled a few strings to act as Alphonse's guardian as well for the time being."

"...Oh." Part of him had always known that Mustang was _technically_ his legal guardian, but he always forgot with how often he ended up in hospitals outside of Mustang's reach. "Okay. And, um… that nurse. Do you know her? She called you Riza." Even the nurses here called him Major Elric or Mr Elric unless he was doing something to tick them off.

Hawkeye paused as she stood, then shook her head and reached her hand back to ruffle Ed's bangs gently. "Don't worry about it," she said softly. She replaced the chair where she had pulled it from, then went to the door. She pulled it open, but paused before she could step out, thinking silently.

Ed waited, eyebrows knit with soft worry. Now what?

"...Hey. I almost forgot. Mustang's funeral is this Saturday. We only have five pallbearers. Havoc thought you might like to be our sixth."

Pallbearers? Ed had seen his fair share of funerals in his short life, but he'd never participated in one. The only one he'd been close enough to, he had only been five at the time and had been too grief stricken to be of much help anyway. But a… pallbearer is the ones carrying the casket, right? Ed wasn't sure that he could do it, with or without the aid of his arm.

"I, uh… I don't think my arm will be ready for that. Sorry. Maybe… Armstrong, maybe?"

Hawkeye nodded gently. "...Yeah, maybe. Well, the funeral is at eleven, if you and Al can join us. There will be lunch afterwards."

"...Okay."

Hawkeye smiled with her eyes and stepped out the door. "Okay. Make sure you rest up, Edward. You need it, too." And with that, she closed the door behind her and headed down the hall.

Ed fell into silence, considering everything. And when he found himself at a loss for what to think and say, he turned back to his brother, watched, and waited for a peace that would not settle.

* * *

Edward had never wanted to tell the truth so badly in his _life_. To just open his mouth and blurt it out, scream it to the whole world what had _really_ happened, why they were _really_ here today and whose fault it _really_ was.

And he was in the middle of a goddamn funeral.

It was a bright and sunshiny day. Birds chirped, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, the weather was balmy and it just felt _good_. If not for the heavy weight over his heart and the event of the day, he might have almost enjoyed himself.

He stood beside Gracia and Elysia. One of Gracia's hands held Elysia's, while the other grasped Ed's returned shoulder. She stared forward with wet eyes at the service as Elysia clung to her and her dress and wept openly. Ed had known that Mustang was good friends with Hughes, but it had never occurred to him that it had gone so deep that Mustang was practically one of the family. Elysia, at least, had been mumbling weakly on and off about Uncle Roy whenever she caught her breath. Ed couldn't imagine how hard on her it must be, to lose her "Uncle Roy" so soon after losing her father.

Ed stood with his hands on the handles of Al's wheelchair. He had been temporarily released from the hospital just for this event, under the express permission of their temporary legal guardian and the promise that he wore a mask and as many layers as he could manage. Technically since Ed was Mustang's subordinate, he should have been standing with the team at the front, but Hawkeye had relieved him of such a duty as soon as she knew that Al, not military, would have to be back with the crowd. It wasn't necessary, she declared, and Ed appreciated that more than he could say, because he just did not want to leave Al's side.

Al had been regularly awake since the day after Hawkeye visited. He woke up and talked with Ed, spoke real conversations. His voice healed quickly, and now it was almost impossible to tell Al's voicebox had gone unused for five years. He had almost strained it earlier in the week, though, arguing with everyone about being allowed out. Even Ed had initially insisted that Al stay in for the funeral, no one would judge him, but as soon as he knew that Mustang had given his life for the return of his body, Alphonse _would not_ be silenced. "I couldn't say goodbye," he had explained weakly, his voice brittle and breaking with a mixture of grief and fatigue. "He d-died for us, I at _least_ want to say thank you." Ed found that he couldn't say 'no' to that quiet plea, and once he agreed, Hawkeye couldn't last long either.

It was just for the day, anyway.

Ed squeezed the handles of the wheelchair tight, his right hand shaking from the strain. Technically it should still be in its sling, but he had wanted to look as pathetically professional as possible. He would have worn his yet-unused uniform if it fit him comfortably. Instead, Hawkeye helped him rent out a nice suit. He even wanted to salute, for the first time ever. His arm couldn't do that in a sling, and he _swore_ he was going to send off his departed commander with a genuine and respectful salute.

Ed's shoulder twinged when Gracia squeezed. He got all of the metal pieces removed from his shoulder just two days ago. His shoulder was mostly healed now, and he would rather face a little pain with the support of Gracia at his side, than just have to stand on his own two legs against Al's wheelchair on his own.

He curled his fingers tighter around the handles, sapping strength from the wheelchair's sturdiness.

It was the officiant speaking again, saying his closing words by the sound of it. The grave was nearly entirely filled in and the diggers were packing it in. Mustang's squad had snapped into a hard salute, all staring forward like strong and sturdy statues.

Ed couldn't see their faces, but he was pretty sure they were all crying, or damn close to it. Elysia's young voice was muffled by her mother's skirt, squashing her tears into the black fabric. Everything else was silent except the birds; there was no one but the officiant speaking. To himself, Ed wished for silence, for the drowning quiet to descend over him so he could think again. But it had been washing over him for days, letting himself drown in misery and only think _this is all my fault_.

He wanted to get back to that. That was logical. That made sense. That was easy; it was guilt, it was what he'd always done. Guilt was easy to fall back onto when it was all he knew.

A few of the mourners rose as soon as the officiant took a step back and headed toward the line of cars. Some went to visit Mustang's grave with a low bow, others turned away to follow the officiant. There was to be a reception after the service somewhere; since Gracia had said she would take them, Ed never bothered to figure out where. He didn't even know how much he wanted to go to the reception; mostly he wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep away the days between today and Al's discharge so they could go back home and never face Central City again.

Gracia, the kind woman that she was, gave them as much time as they needed. They waited until most of the other mourners had left, until no one remained but half of Mustang's team, some women in the back, and them. And even then they waited, not for very long because Al was starting to shiver, but they waited for something that Ed couldn't be bothered to recall.

Finally, when Elysia's quiet cries subdued almost completely and Al's shivering became prominent, Gracia squeezed Ed's shoulder, set her daughter's hand aside, and gripped one of the handles of Al's wheelchair. "Perhaps we should go," she said softly. "Elysia's getting a little hungry, I think, and Al looks cold."

Al looked up at Ed quietly, but there was a small touch of " _I'm not ready_ " in his eyes, and Ed had to agree with him. He glanced toward the headstone; it appeared that even Havoc and Fuery were turning back. Only Hawkeye stood there, still like a statue, but she stood a little further away as if to give Ed and Al exactly what they needed without knowing it.

"Actually, can we just wait a few more minutes? There's… there's something we need to do." Again he squeezed Al's wheelchair, as if afraid it would be taken away from them or Gracia would deny their easy request.

Gracia paused, looking toward the headstone and then the quiet boys. They hardly seemed to ask for anything, although they never really had, only taking what was given to them and grateful for that. So Gracia couldn't exactly deny them that.

"...Alright. But be quick, alright?"

"We will." Ed unbuttoned his coat and pulled it off to drape over Al. Al smiled at him pleasantly then turned back to look at the headstone. Ed took a huge breath, and pressed forward.

Hawkeye took another step back. Behind them, where they couldn't see, Gracia scooped Elysia up and came to a stop beside Hawkeye, watching the remaining two mourn silently.

Honestly, Ed wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. How he was supposed to thank him, or say goodbye, or anything. Mustang had given up his _life_ for them, so casually, as if he himself had no worth. He had… he had, without a doubt, trusted in their ability so little, that a sacrifice like this he felt was more likely to draw results than any more of Ed's time spent in the military. Ed was beyond grateful, but also beyond hurt. He hadn't thought himself so hopeless. "Mustang…"

Birds chirped above them happily, as if completely unaware of where they were and who and what they were interrupting. Ed wanted them to shut up. He wanted them _gone_.

"Colonel," Alphonse said under his breath. He was clinging to his knees weakly, almost as if he wanted to push himself right out of his chair and get to his knees in the dirt, but he physically couldn't do it and, even if he could, Ed wouldn't have allowed it. He wet his shaking lips instead and turned his gaze to his lap. "I… we… we can't thank you enough."

 _It's not fair_.

"Everything… everything you did, everything you gave up… it's all… it's…" Al fell silent again, unable to find the words he searched for, so Ed stepped in for him.

"Why?" He asked, eyes dry and low, gaze locked firmly on the returned hand on Al's chair. "Why did you do such a stupid, stupid thing? We're not… we're not worth your life colonel. I know that you had things to do, but still you… you preferred to die. And I don't understand why. You didn't even ask! You don't know! Maybe we were days away from a breakthrough! Maybe… maybe…

"Thank you," he managed after a second, recovering his voice. "We weren't close. So… thank you, I guess. I just wish—I _wish_ we could tell the truth. I wish we could! You didn't die in a—a—a _drunken game of fire_! You didn't die such a stupid death! You—you saved us, but now all anyone is ever going to know of you is that—you died by your own stupid hand. No one will ever know you really were a hero. Not even of war."

"No one will know you died _our_ hero," Al mumbled.

Ed squeezed his eyes shut and managed a curt nod. "...Even if you did scare us half to death." He squeezed Al's wheelchair one last time, then dropped his right hand and snapped it right to his forehead as he had seen Hawkeye do hundreds of times. His arm soon started shaking, but he let it stay where it was, saluting and respecting the man who died for them.

Hawkeye hummed a soft phrase, but the boys didn't hear her.

"And… and I just wanted you to know I'm sorry. I'm sorry that this was better than staying alive anymore. I'm sorry that we never proved to you we were capable, and had to die for us instead."

Hawkeye mumbled a soft word to Gracia, who seemed reluctant, but turned toward the line of cars. Hawkeye came up behind the boys and put an arm around Ed, who started and looked up at her, eyes still dry but noticably ashamed. "Let's go. I think you've said your piece, and I think there are some things you need to know, still."

Ed turned to look at Gracia and Elysia, who were walking away, and then up at Hawkeye. "...Mrs Hughes was taking us there."

"I know. But I think, instead, we'll skip the reception. Come on. I'll take you back to the hospital."

The drive there was short and silent. Al was leaned up against Ed and drifting somewhere between consciousness and sleep. Ed sat with his arm around him, watching the sunny day go past out the car window. The hospital wasn't very far from the cemetery, for obvious reasons Ed thought, so at least they didn't have long to think. Before they even seemed to know it, Hawkeye was helping Al inside as Ed followed behind silently. Hawkeye checked them both back in at the receptionist's desk, and they were on their way back upstairs before Ed was hardly aware that they were inside at all.

Hawkeye lifted Al into his bed without a request, sitting his bed up so they could all talk. She steered Ed into the chair beside him, then pulled up a chair of her own, draping her coat around the back to get comfortable.

"...You said there were things we needed to know?" Al asked quietly, although the question that his eyes asked was closer to _"what is there that we don't already know?"_

"There are," Hawkeye agreed quietly. "I bet that you didn't know that Roy visited this hospital very often in the past few months, did you? He and myself."

"...No? Why would he?"

Hawkeye took a very soft breath and said, "Edward, Alphonse, what I'm about to tell you is something that I need you to be quiet about. It's not a secret, but it's not something that Roy wanted going around, because if it does get around, it could contradict everything that we've been working towards for a very long time, and could get at the very least Havoc and myself into a whole mess of trouble. Do you understand?"

Ed's eyebrows lifted up into his hair. What sort of thing could Hawkeye tell them that had to be kept secret like _that_? Ed was a little intimidated. After all, with Alphonse returned to his body, most of their big secrets were supposed to be over.

"Yes, Lieutenant," mumbled Al, so Hawkeye smiled softly at him.

"Good. A little while ago, Roy… he fell very, very ill."

"He was taking a lot of medicines," Ed remembered, bottles of pills in Mustang's desk drawer suddenly coming to mind. "I didn't recognize any of them."

"Probably not," Hawkeye agreed. "He had it for a while before it started to affect him, and by the time he actually went to do something about it, it was too late. He was given six months to live."

Ed turned huge eyes up on her, confusion and trepidation lighting in his eyes. Mustang had been… dying? Actually, really dying? He had seemed fine the day before when he cleaned his car for the last time. Maybe a little coughy, but overall he was fine.

...But then, Ed _had_ noticed that he'd been taking a lot of naps. He was always finding him napping in the office and at home. He was eating a lot less from what Ed saw, and he swore he saw Hawkeye practically force a glass of water on him everyday. He supposed that there _had_ been something weird with Mustang, but not _so_ weird. Not _that_ sort of weird.

"Six months?" Al wondered. His face was drained and pale, his eyes wide and clearly nervous. "Do you know what he had?"

"We—" Hawkeye paused to consider them both, then frowned softly. "Do you know what cancer is?"

Cancer? Ed split a look with Al, furrowing his brows. Sure, they had heard of cancer, a little. It was basically a disease that made your own body turn against you. Your cells turned malicious, dividing and taking over until your body couldn't contain it and it had metastasized. They were coming up with ways to help fight it, though. Ed remembered reading that much in medical journals he'd borrowed from the library early in his career when he'd hoped some sort of medical miracle would be the key. There were medicines to take to combat the effects! How could he have been stripped to only _six months_?

"Yeah…" Alphonse answered for him, quiet and undertoned and fully aware of what Ed was aware of.

"He had it in the lungs," Hawkeye explained, nodding softly like it was a burden to share. "We knew he was getting sicker, but by the time he went in, it was already metastasizing. There was nothing they could do but try to prolong his life. That was three or so months ago."

"Three—only three months? But you said—he had six!" Had they, somehow, cut Mustang's life even _shorter_ than it already _was_?

"He did, initially," Hawkeye agreed. "He had six months, and since all he had was six months, he decided to spend as much time doing research as physically possible. He wanted it perfected, but had he waited much longer, he worried not having the strength to do it."

Ed and Al split an anxious, half-incredulous look and turned back to her. "But—"

"And after all the research he did," Hawkeye admitted slowly, "after so long not taking care of himself, I don't think he would have lasted much longer anyway. The sickness got to him, sure, but more than anything else, the way he took care of himself did. He was so focused on finding the answer that his health slipped to the wayside, and… well, he's lucky he came to the answer when he did."

"But—I—" Ed stammered quietly, shaking his head softly. "But _why_? Why did he—did he think we were so _incapable_ that he—"

"Of course not," Hawkeye interrupted sharply. There was a touch of anger in her voice, perhaps disbelief that Ed could think such a thing, but that look quickly softened into something more affectionate. "Roy believed _so much_ in what you could do. I know the two of you argued day in and day out, but he loved nothing more than to see the life in your eyes when you did."

"So _why_?!" Ed demanded, maybe a little louder than necessary. Al flinched when the noise hit his ears but didn't say anything, looking away and contorting his face miserably.

" _Because_ ," Hawkeye said, firmly and without question. "More than almost anything else, he wanted to see the two of you in your original bodies, the way you're supposed to be. He saw your struggles, saw your fears, and wanted them fixed more than most anything."

Edward averted his eyes from her and bit on his lip. That was _ridiculous_. All they had been to Mustang was a step up.

 _Don't tell Hawkeye_.

Just a pawn. They couldn't have meant a _thing_ to him—not their fears, not their struggles, only their mistakes and whatever may have made his climb easier or more difficult.

 _...I had planned to teach you how to drive. You are, after all, fifteen already, approaching sixteen. This is important stuff and I think you should know._

...Could they?

"He had plans," he breathed out, an ashamed part of him flushing when his voice cracked but thankfully his emotions were too whirlwindy to care about one little change. "He had plans! Y-you—you don't become a _colonel_ , by fucking _thirty_ , for nothing! What about those?"

Hawkeye blinked and sat back, not expecting those words. "...How did you know? Who told you?"

Ed scoffed weakly, his voice shaking. "I'm not _stupid_ , Lieutenant. Course we knew _something_."

Hawkeye breathed out a little sigh and looked to Al, who lifted his brows to her but had to look away again. "Yes. Well. You're right. He did have plans. But they're nothing for you to worry about; I'm going to be taking care of them now that he can't. All that you need to worry about is healing. He left you something, you know. So you didn't have to worry about hospital bills or anything. He wasn't taking all of the medicines he should have been, or having as many check ups as he should have, so he stored up whatever he had left and wanted to give it to you. It's in his will. So really, _all_ you need to worry about is being kids again."

Ed looked to his lap and breathed out a shaking breath. Tears were pricking ashamedly at the corners of his eyes, leaving them stinging and aching. This wasn't right. It wasn't _right_. Even if they didn't have to worry about bills ever again, they would never be _kids_ again, either. Too much had happened to them—their father left, their mother killed, having their bodies torn apart in a fatal mistake, joining the military… Ed had stopped being a kid at the tender age of twelve. They could never get that back. But still, even in his last moments, beyond his last moments, Mustang treated them like children.

Like… like _his_ children.

Ed fiercely shook that thought away and squeezed his eyes shut. They forgot to stop producing wet tears, and he felt those salty wet drops come to rest at his eyelids, ready to fall. This wasn't _right,_ and Ed certainly shouldn't be _crying about it_! Not now!

"...But why? Why us? Why didn't he at least use his last few months to work towards _his_ goal?" Al pressed when Ed couldn't speak up anymore. "He—he wanted to change something, wanted to change the country, didn't he? That's more important than a couple of—of selfish kids."

Hawkeye's sherry eyes went beyond soft, looking between them with such gentle affection in her eyes that Ed and Al almost didn't know what to do with it all. "Oh, boys," she said, her voice gentle like a mother's and loving like family. "You really don't get it, do you? Roy had no chance of accomplishing his goal in six _years_ , let alone six _months_. The rest of the team and I worked on making his death as easy as possible for his goals, while he worked on making it as easy as possible for _you_. I don't think… I don't think that I can possibly say how much he cared for you. I know he hardly showed it, and never said it— _believe me_ , I know—but the two of you meant so much to him. You were _so_ important to him. He was hardly aware of it most of the time, but once he was terminal, I _know_ it was there. And he wanted nothing more than to see you two happy. That wasn't going to happen, and you probably weren't going to get your bodies back any other way in six months and I'm _sorry_. But if he couldn't see you be happy, see you back and the way you were supposed to be, then he wanted to help it happen as _much_ as was possible. And he did. He saw it through to the end. I hope you understand that. How much you meant to him. How badly he just wanted you happy."

Ed gasped a broken gasp and stopped fighting the wetness pooling in his eyes. He covered his face with two flesh hands—one given to him by a selfless sacrifice—and curled his fingers in his hair. "I-it's not fair," he admitted quietly. "He didn't—he didn't even let us _choose_ , he just _died_! W-we didn't want anyone else to g-get hurt after Hughes! It was just supposed to be us!"

Hawkeye leaned forward and put her arm around Ed, squeezing him hard and leaning her cheek against the crown of his head. "I know, Ed. I know. But it was what he wanted. It wasn't your fault at all; and I know that if he had to, he would come back and do it again in a heartbeat."

A sob escaped his clenched lips, weak and pathetic, just like him now, just like his stupid new arm and his stupid emotions they were _weak_ , he was _weak_ and _stupid_ and—and _how could he not have known_! He'd known that something was wrong from so early on! He had seen Mustang getting sick, taking all those medicines, seen him taking so many naps and getting dizzy and _why didn't he notice_!

And why—he hated it but _why did it feel so gross_? Like his agency was stripped from him, after Mustang made the decision for him to die and bring their bodies back. Why was he so fucking—why was he so fucking _selfish_ , and _weak_ , that even when Mustang sacrificed his _life_ to accomplish Ed's life goal _for him_ , he still felt _betrayed_ and even a little hurt? What did that speak of Ed's character, that Mustang had selflessly ( _stupidly_ ) died for?

"I know!" he gasped. He didn't hardly notice when Hawkeye shifted, but soon Al was dragged down off of his bed and nestled right into Hawkeye lap, curling around her like a halfmoon and wreaking havoc to her uniform. Hawkeye cooed at him like a mother, mumbling at them but surprisingly not trying to hush them at all. Like she knew they needed to let this out, this build up over the past couple of days of emotion needed to be let out or it would tear them apart. Like she knew from firsthand experience.

"So why," Ed sobbed, pressing his temple against her free shoulder and needling helplessly toward the warmth and stability she was selflessly supplying. "Wh-why does it feel like this was _all my fault_? Like—like if I'd said something, or if I'd just been _smart_ , and… and gotten our bodies back _myself_ then this wouldn't have happened? Like—"

"Edward, he was _dying already_ ," Hawkeye hummed.

"Like I could have helped him!"

Hawkeye sighed and squeezed him tighter, gently brushing a kiss to his hairline. "I know. But he never expected your help. I just hope you know that he loved you, the both of you, _so_ much. I hope you understand that now."

Beside him, Al gasped what might have been a broken "yes", and hid himself further in her shoulder. Ed nodded tiredly and pressed closer to her. He didn't dare to make a comment when a few drops of water plopped on the back of his neck, or when he heard Hawkeye breathe out shaky breaths similar to theirs.

Together, the three of them suffered and grieved, and fought for solace in a fast darkening world. Hawkeye held them close like a mother would her own children, and Al cuddled close to her and his brother. Ed knew in his heart that the blame he felt for his ex-commander's death would persist for years and years, in the same way that his blame for Alphonse's armored body and his mother's second death had, the same way the death of Nina and of Hughes forever would. That wasn't likely to change, no matter what he said, for a long long time.

But… but Hawkeye said that Mustang wanted them to be happy. If he had done this thing, this sacrificing _thing_ for them, then at the very least, they could be what he wanted them to be. They could be happy. Or… they could work for it. It would take years, likely, before they could say that yes, they were happy, but Ed and Al couldn't just let his sacrifice go to waste. They would live, and move on, and… and even support Hawkeye's plans as much as they could. Most importantly, they would go home and live their lives the way they were meant to. The way that Colonel Mustang had wanted them to, if that was it took.

* * *

 _For just a second, Roy Mustang knew All._

 _It didn't last long, but that stretch of time felt like both a millisecond and a hundred thousand centuries all at once. In a miniscule and yet endless amount of time, Roy saw everything. He was caught in a torrent of knowledge. There was knowledge from the past, the present, the future and everything, every little bit of it, was stuffed into his brain all at once. He thought his brain may burst before he escaped this hell. He didn't even have the brain capacity to sympathize with young Edward and Alphonse, who would have experienced this horrid torrent at the tender ages of ten and eleven._

 _Then, in a blink of an eye, it was over. The whirlwind of information ceased and disappeared, a heavy door slammed shut behind him, and he stood in a pure white space, seeing nothing before him._

 _His head pounded like a hangover, protesting all that had been shown to him in such a short matter of time. He squeezed his eyes shut and put his face in his hands, taking deep breaths, then decided to lift his head and look around._

 _The area around him was almost entirely white and seemingly endless. It stretched on and on and on and there was no horizon, no nothing._

 _Except, off to his right there stood two massive stone doors, side by side. They looked very similar, but peering closer showed that there were intricate details differing from one to the other. Roy couldn't begin to guess what they meant, other than that it was highly alchemic, scientific, historic, and highly, HIGHLY intimidating._

 _And at the foot of the doors, stationed perfectly between the two like a bridge, there sat two boys._

 _They both stared at him with long, blank stares. One was frail and brittle and looked on the verge of collapsing at any moment, while the other sat tall and powerful, with two metal limbs. One's hair was in disarray, while the other's was pulled back into an immaculate braid. Two total opposites, sat in the same situation, caught in limbo._

" _Ed!" he gasped, turning on them, "Al!"_

" _ **Hello, Alchemist**_ _."_

 _He froze. Slowly, his heart pounding, he turned to the voice behind him._

 _Behind him stood a creature that Roy had only seen in dark nightmares and imaginings of what Ed had told him. They were faceless except their massive grin. They were shaped as a man, outlined as if with fallen ash, but there was no substance inside. Despite the lack of eyes, Roy felt their stare deep in his very soul. Behind the creature there was a huge black stone door. The door was engraved with two triangles and a double helix, something that looked almost like his complex flame alchemy array. Beyond that door was surely the torrent of information as well as endless nothingness. That was, likely, his final destination._

 _He knew the answer before he asked but was compelled to ask the question all the same: "...what are you?"_

 _The creature's grin grew. "_ _ **What am I, you ask? A fair question. To some I am the World, to some I am the Universe. To some I am One, and to some I am All. To All, I am You."**_

" _You're Truth, aren't you?" Roy interrupted with an all-knowing look in his eyes._

 _The being paused, as if startled, then laughed, their grin stretching from ear to ear. "_ _ **A funny human, I see. To some, I am Truth. How was your ride? Did you learn all you needed?**_ _"_

 _Roy looked back over to the boys, who sat staring with blank blank faces. They didn't even seem to be aware at all. Were they still unconscious back in the world? Were their bodies even there at all? "...I think I learned plenty."_

" _ **Are you prepared to give your toll?**_ _"_

" _Do you even know what I've come for?"_

 _Truth's grin somehow grew more, as if nothing could make them more delighted. "_ _ **Oh, I think I've got an idea, but sure. Why don't you tell me? Are you bringing back a long dead parent? Perhaps a good friend?**_ _"_

" _No, even I'm not so foolish to do something I can't accomplish. No, I'm bringing back them." His eyes wandered to the boys nestled together at the base of their Gates. They didn't even blink._

 _Truth laughed a full-bellied laugh, thoroughly amused. "_ _ **Oh ARE you! And how do you think you're going to do that? What do you think you can give, and still come back?**_ _"_

 _Roy smirked to himself. As if he had those intentions. "I know what I need to give. To retrieve Alphonse's soul, you took away Edward's arm. To retrieve an imitation of their mother, you took away Alphonse's entire body. I'd like them back."_

" _ **So I heard. Well, Alchemist? You alchemists run on the principle of equivalent exchange, yes? What do you think is equivalent for the lives of two children?**_ _"_

" _They've got their lives, I just need their body and arm back. You took an arm for a soul, and a body for a body. That's what I'll be giving to you."_

 _Truth took on the most comical shocked expression, falling silent. It was clear they didn't often see someone who came here to die. Then their grin stretched, waiting for Roy to continue. "_ _ **Is that so? Do tell.**_ _"_

" _My soul," Roy said confidently, knowing this would work, "for Edward's arm returned. My body, for Alphonse's body returned. That's the exchange. That's equivalent."_

 _Again, that comical almost-expression returned to Truth's face. "_ _ **What,**_ _" they wondered, "_ _ **have you no intention to see what you've done? You are ready to die?**_ _"_

 _Roy frowned, then looked back to the boys who would soon be returned to the world, fixed and everything. This would be worth it. No, he wouldn't see them, but he didn't have to. He could see them now. The beauty of their return was clear on their very blank expressions. He could see what him dying would bring, and it was worth it._

 _So, he shrugged and looked flippantly back at his Truth, nothing but confidence leaking from his very pores. "I'm a dead man, anyway. Those boys deserve it more than anyone else I know. If I can help them, dying will be worth it."_

 _Truth's grin turned wholeheartedly amused but, somehow, approving. "_ _ **Alright, Alchemist. I'll play your game! A soul for an arm and one dying body for another. What say you?**_ _"_

" _I agree to your terms," Roy said, his voice stronger and more powerful than it had been since his sickness took over. "And when they return? They'll be just like this? Alive and well, as they are?"_

" _ **Yes,**_ _" Truth snapped, sounding perhaps a little too like Roy for Roy's own comfort, "_ _ **Broken, decrepit and nearly dead, as they are.**_ _"_

" _But with a chance."_

" _ **...If that's what you choose to call it, then yes. With a chance.**_ _"_

" _Good." For a moment, Roy's heart clenched hard in his throat, and he looked back to those boys, his boys, for possibly the last time ever. He hoped they understood when all this was said and done. "...May I?"_

" _ **What, say your goodbyes? ...Well, someone's got to get them up and out of here.**_ _" Though the tone was snappish, there was a sort of softness and warmth to their words that Roy wasn't expecting. Perhaps his Truth was taking on the affection he felt for those boys of his. Or perhaps, in doing this, he was somehow connecting their Gates and their Truths. That connection would be permanently severed momentarily, but for now, they were three, and they were one._

 _He turned back on those young men of his and walked the short, echoing distance from his Gate to theirs. They seemed to watch him but didn't move a muscle, didn't even lift their eyes. Just sat and watched, side by side, unbothered by the silence or Roy's solemn approach._

 _He crouched before Ed first, his young prodigy who he had been so proud of, always proud. He reached a hand out and squeezed his left shoulder, smiling when Ed's eyes shifted sluggishly to look down at the sensation but didn't react otherwise. The boy blinked slowly finally, watching but not understanding, having no hope of understanding._

" _Take care of yourselves, Edward," he said gently, words like a command but voice like a prayer. "You can go home now. Be the kids you're supposed to be." He rested his hand on the back of Ed's head and leaned his own head forward, pressing their foreheads together momentarily. This was something Roy had never had the courage to do in life, had known Ed would be freaked out and would never understand, but in death and a place Ed would likely never remember, Roy wouldn't pass up this chance. "Please. More than anyone else, the two of you deserve it."_

 _Ed lifted his eyes slowly, and for a moment their eyes connected. There was still no understanding, and there wasn't even a hint of life in Ed's golden gaze, but in that moment Roy felt their connection both strengthen and sever. This would be the last he ever spoke to that child of his._

 _He released Ed and turned to the boy beside him that Roy only recognized in his heart. In a way, this boy looked exactly how Roy had imagined he would, and yet somehow so much more beautiful. Despite the lack of life in his eyes, there was still life in each breath he took and each twitch that made it all so much more real. This beautiful thing would be returning to the world as he should, as he deserved to, no longer trapped in that suit of armor but free to do and be whatever he pleased. He hoped Al got to experience every little thing he had written down in his little book. He hoped Al lived whatever life he dreamed of._

" _I love you two," Roy finally said, a word he hadn't spoken to anyone in what felt like ages, since he had worked up the courage to say the same to Hawkeye as he was wheeled out of the examination room and confirmed he only had six months to live. "You couldn't possibly realize, but I love you so much. I'm so—so proud of you, of everything you've become. I don't have the words. Please—be what you want to be. Live how you want to live. But never, ever forget—there are always people who love you."_

 _As he had with Ed, he cupped Al's head and leaned their foreheads together, feeling the flesh of a boy who had only been armor all too recently._

" _Take care, you two."_

 _Al lifted his head to the pressure a little, lifting his eyes to meet Roy's. For a moment, Al didn't even seem to recognize him, eyes blank and dark. He blinked sluggishly, face slack, then for just a moment, clarity shone in his eyes. Was he waking up, or something? "C-" Al said, voice fragile, "colonel…?"_

" _Hush, Alphonse," Roy said softly, heart already back in his throat. "Rest now."_

" _Wha—? Colonel…? What?"_

 _Roy closed his eyes and sat back. If Alphonse was returning to consciousness, Ed likely would soon too. If he saw them looking at him—begging him not to go, to at least explain what was going on—he feared not having the heart to leave them. But if he didn't leave them, a toll would be taken for the knowledge he had gained, he would die in three months if not sooner, and those poor young souls would be left to suffer._

 _No. He couldn't do that to them._

" _Rest, Alphonse," he insisted gently, stroking his thumb against Al's long, brittle bangs. "Rest now and recover. Take care of yourselves. Hawkeye will make sure that everything works out. Just wait a little bit longer."_

 _What little life had returned in Al's eyes seemed to fade slowly. He nodded, leaning into Roy's hand when he tried to pull away, but soon released him and fell back into silence. It was as if he had never returned to full consciousness._

 _Roy smiled, looking between his boys. They stared ahead as if sleeping with their eyes open, neither awake nor asleep they sat and would stay—at least until Roy had given himself for them. At least he got to see them as they were, mostly. That was enough to make this easier. He wouldn't see them in life, but before death, he was allowed an eyeful._

 _He turned to their Gates and knocked hard on Al's, almost as if knowing what needed to be done. The door groaned and split, leaking in more light on the endless white space and lighting their backs with warmth. Al turned dead eyes on the door and seemed to watch it. When Roy leaned to the side to open Ed's door, Ed turned to it as well. Once their bodies were returned to them, they should arguably come to full consciousness and would find their way out. They were intelligent, able boys. They could get themselves out of just about any sticky situation, one way or another._

 _Finally, Roy forced himself to step back and turn away, but his warm smile never left his face. His final deed, his last accomplishment was done. Hawkeye would take care of everything as far as the progression to Fuhrer went. She would ascend the throne and repair what they had broken during the civil war, and as many other things as she could possibly manage. The team, loyal to a fault, would see her there whatever it took. Hawkeye was well liked; she could garner support all on her own. She'd make a fine Fuhrer, Roy didn't have to worry about that. She'd do well with this country._

 _He stepped back over and stood beside his Truth, who had been silent. He nodded at the creature and stepped in front of his Gate, intricate in detail eerily similar to the design of his Master's flame alchemy research._

" _ **Are you ready to give your toll, Alchemist?**_ _"_

" _The boys will get home fine on their own," said Roy in lieu of an answer. Yes. He was ready._

 _The creature beside him nodded and turned to face the door. With no prompting, the door stretched open wide for them as if it had been awaiting their return all along. Together, almost as if as friends, they strode forward into the eerily calm embrace of death._

 _That last smile never once left Roy's face._


End file.
